Pain Builds Character
by Mari L. Anderson
Summary: It's every day a kid gets to learn a trade anymore. What is rarer is for a kid to want to learn one. It is the readers decision what to make of Clinton Barton, the kid who learned several.


One after another, the knives thudded into the scored wood of the target's bull's eye. After a short pause the tall, rather burly, man followed up with another volley of four knives. In the area he occupied, there was relative peace and quiet though the hustle and bustle of the circus that employed him was only yards away. Close to the practice field, sitting outside one of the innumerable small tents pitched behind the big top, a teenaged boy, with a ragged, tousled, mane of brown hair reached almost to his shoulders, busied himself mending a worn, patched shirt. If he had given more of his attention to his work, and less to the performer called Swordsman, it would have been immediately obvious he was sewing the back and front together.

A bit further on, another entertainer honed his act. Arrow after arrow thumped into the small, cloth-covered target while the man dove, leapt, and flipped across the open ground, trying time and again to perfect a new stunt. Though no one watching could detect a misstep or and arrow even a hair out of place, the archer continued practice. No one commented on the fact to Trick Shot's face, but it was well known that he was quite a perfectionist. It was an obnoxious trait to most, but the Ring Master had no reason to complain because none of the participants in the archer's act had ever been killed, or even scratched. The teenager watching stopped the pretence of activity as he focused on Swordsman, now fencing the air with a long sword. "Clint...Hey, Clinton, can you hear me?" The speaker was another teen, slightly older, with strong familial resemblance to the first, though with a more tastefully cut hair style. Clinton did not hear his brother, entranced as he was by the what was happening in front of him. He started violently when his brother tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh, hi, Barney. You nearly gave me a heart attack," said Clint absently.

"Korman's been looking for you. Wants to know why the horse pens are still dirty."

"Tell him I'll clean them in a few minutes. I've got to finish this," he said gesturing to the shirt. Barney noticed, but did not comment on the unusual alteration. He knew his brother would come back to earth and do a thorough job on anything when Swordsman and Trick Shot were done practicing. He hoped Korman would understand that as well.

"Don't be too long. Remember, you're on probation. If you get thrown out, I will to, and then we're back on the streets." The sobriety of the comment penetrated Clint's revary, and for a moment his brown eyes were serious.

"I know. Thanks."

"You're welcome," said Barney, ruffling Clint's hair. The younger boy twisted away with a mock hurt expression and made a big show of smoothing down the "mussed" hair. He couldn't hold a straight face for long and both of them ended up laughing.

"THERE YOU ARE!" bellowed a red-faced, rather rotund man pointing toward the brothers. Both Trick Shot and Swordsman stopped dead mid action to hurriedly glance about and make sure the 'you' was not directed at either of them. Korman Macgregor was world renown for his skillful and gentle hand training animals of all sorts, but feared by his circus comrades for the violence and hair trigger nature of his temper. For this reason, was said (very quietly), "You'd rather be Macgregor's horse than his friend." Both Clint and Barney froze with the expression of a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Clint, younger and more instinctively street trained, reacted first, glancing right and left for an avenue of escape. He tensed to sprint, but as he surged forward, Barney's strong calloused hand closed around the back of his collar.

"No you don't. You have to face it. Two more strikes and you're out," he hissed. Clint's wider-than-normal eyes looked into his brother's face. There was no hint of laughter there now. The entertainers who had paused to make certain Korman's wrath was not directed at them, now leaned on sword and bow respectively to watch what would happen. Their reasons for doing this differed, however. Swordsman simply like a good show. Trick Shot on the other hand was more thoughtful. Clinton Barton intrigued him as a nice enough young fellow, but also as material for a apprentice. The young man in question straightened as Barney released his hold, eyeing the approaching Korman with wary apprehension.

It is amazing how much one can learn from a single display of a person's character. Even more surprising is the disparity between the opinions drawn by Trick Shot and Swordsman upon the series of events surrounding Korman Macgregor's loud, long, and colorful tirade. The former learned that Clinton was honorable enough to acknowledge a mistake, and strong and stubborn enough not to be cowed. Swordsman on the other hand, observed the flash of Clint's eyes and the way his hand balled into fists he did not use when Korman grabbed his ear and dragged him toward the stables. Swordsman understood that Clint possessed a cleverness verging on the devious, that allowed him to choose the battles worth fighting. With all this analyzing going on, what was going through Clint's head? Mainly, it was filled with the thoughts of someone who is angry, but cannot say anything without getting punished. His resolve nearly snapped when Korman yanked him toward the stables. Clint could have wriggled away like an eel. Barney's presence was all that stopped him.

Clint stewed the entire time he mucked out the stables. It must be said that though he was angry, he still did a good job. That afternoon, Trick Shot was thoughtful, and Swordsman was merely boisterous, which amounted to about the same thing. There was nothing remarkable about the show that night, either good or bad. Afterwards, a slightly inebriated Swordsman mentioned to the Ring Master, "...that young Clink...uh...Clint, Barton shows pretential (_sic_) as a knife thrower." Because of that garbled speech, the Ring Master tactfully commented that he was tired, and it was probably time for all of them to go to bed.

_Hope you enjoyed the first part! This is my idea of how Clinton Barton became Hawkeye, so it will differ from the comics. With that said though it will be a good story. New sections coming as soon as possible! If you want to read more of my work, check out my other stories "A Silver Oakleaf" and "Servant in His House." _

_Ta ta for now!_


End file.
